


the not ready for prime time players

by perfectlystill



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi, saturday night live au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven looks at the camera, blinks, and says, in the same, unaffected drawl she’s been using the entire time, “Live from New York, it’s Saturday night.”  <i>Saturday Night Live AU.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the not ready for prime time players

Raven blinks, slides the glasses a little further down her nose. “I don’t understand the question.”

Monty rolls his eyes, refolds his hands on the desk. “There’s video of you slapping an intern at the courthouse.”

Raven blinks again, slides the glasses down so they’re perched on the end of her nose. “Oh, no. That didn’t happen. I think you’re asking me the wrong question.”

“And what would the right question be?”

Her glasses fall off her nose, hit her chin. “Are the intern and I involved in an S & M relationship where our safe word is pickles?”

“Are you?” Monty asks.

“Oh, no. That didn’t happen.” Raven tilts her head so the glasses are dangling from one of her ears. “Do you know what did happen, though?”

“What?” Monty asks, leaning forward as though he actually believes the judge is going to give him an honest answer.

Raven looks at the camera, blinks, and says, in the same, unaffected drawl she’s been using the entire time, “Live from New York, it’s Saturday night.” 

 

 

Bellamy starts each morning by buying a copy of _The Wall Street Journal_ and coffee from a little shop by his Brooklyn apartment. He always gets a drink tray with his own order, a syrupy sweet iced coffee that’s more cream than coffee for Octavia, and the last two spots vary depending on a myriad of factors:

Thelonious got one the Monday after Bellamy had tripped over a prop and into their host during dress. The host – a television actress with extensions down her back and limited comedic timing – suffered a concussion. Miller gets coffee a lot because he’s Bellamy’s main writing partner and just wants black blonde roast. Raven doesn’t get coffee when she and Finn break up, but she gets coffee for almost two weeks after she sleeps with Bellamy for the first time. Clarke gets coffee the week after, for the second time, she drops an f-bomb during a skit. 

To be fair, Bellamy’s surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Clarke says, “fuck,” a lot during dress, and at four A.M. on Wednesday morning when they haven’t gone home yet and are flipping through newspapers, their fingers starting to blur with ink because he spilled water on _The New York Times_. It’s funny, he thinks, because Clarke never breaks. “Fuck,” he thinks, is her version of laughing. 

 

 

For the original SNL cast, it was drugs – a reality, but also rumors. And, okay, there’s a fair share of pot smoking at after parties, and, sometimes, Monty lets Jasper and Finn convince him it’ll help get the creative juices flowing at two A.M. on a Wednesday. But it’s not much of an actual problem anymore, hasn’t been for years.

For their generation, it’s nepotism – not a reality, but there are definitely rumors floating around on Reddit. 

Wells is a great head writer, hired for merit more than anything else. He’s not afraid to go after political figures, his commentary on both sides sharp and honest and fair. No one writes a monologue like he does, pinpointing something likeable about the most anxious and inexperienced hosts, finding a way to make them comfortable. The show hinges on the monologue, the audience warms up to the show or it doesn’t. 

If it doesn’t it’s not hopeless, but it makes their job a hell of a lot harder. When Anya hosted the first time, she didn’t have a comedic bone in her body. Wells used that to his advantage, helped write her a monologue that required stuttering and flubbing lines. 

She’d stared straight at Octavia, her stance purposely too wide – added after Clarke noted there was something awkward about her body language during early rehearsals – as she said: “If no one laughs I will wave your head around on a stick.”

Octavia’s eyes widened and she’d scrambled backwards to the edge of the stage. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Right, because I’m funny.” She turned to the audience, stumbled over her feet before curtseying. “Please, tell me I’m funny.”

The audience laughed, sympathized with the honesty behind her nerves and the outright statement of them. She’d been a hit. 

Clarke has, on more than one occasion, delivered biting comments about her own mother’s Speaker of the House duties. 

None of this stops dudebros on the internet from saying Wells got the job because his father is in charge, or that Clarke got hired because she went to school with Wells when they were children, because they’re best friends. Because her mother is in politics.

Critics agree though, while there are a fair share of clunkers, their generation is innovative and, most importantly, funny. 

Dudebros on Reddit be damned. 

 

 

“Hey,” Raven says. She throws a pen at Clarke. It hits her chair.

Clarke spins around. “What?”

“Are mittens funny?” She’s sprawled out on the lumpy couch in their office, and she taps her pen against her notepad. 

Raven spends a lot of time in here. 

Correction: she spends a lot of time in here alone. Clarke spends more time in the Update office with Bellamy and Wells than in here with Raven, but there are a few hours each week when she tries to work out sketch ideas. Clarke is the kind of person who feels like she didn’t do enough if she isn’t in at least two skits each week. Raven thinks this is ridiculous, told her as much once over lunch, told her it made her feel kind of shitty, that six week stretch her first year on the show when she was in one skit each week, and the last week it was just a background part in a filmed short. 

“Well,” Clarke had said. “Now you’ve been nominated for an Emmy, and there are people who regularly say your ten-to-one skits are the only good thing about the show.”

“Yeah,” Raven said. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t feel really shitty.”

“You were the best part of that horror movie parody, anyway.”

Raven looked at her, twisted her mouth. She hadn’t clarified what weeks she was talking about. 

Now, Clarke blinks at her and shrugs. “I don’t know. If you think it’s funny, it probably is.”

 

 

Octavia and Bellamy get hired together after their show, _Blue Blood_ , gets named best new variety show by _Time Out New York_. They get hired specifically because of a (long) bit where Bellamy relates tales of weird, overprotectiveness like they’re normal – “You all know how annoying it is when someone in the next room won’t stop blasting their music. And then you knock on the door and scream at them to turn the damn stuff down.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. This bit requires a lot of crossed arms and dramatic sighs and rolled eyes.

“Only to find they have a boy in their room and they leave you no choice but to punch them and drag their body down the stairs, hearing it _thud thud THUD_ before throwing them outside and spraying them with a hose.” 

“We didn’t even _do_ anything,” Octavia huffs.

“See,” Bellamy says to the audience. “He brainwashed her. I know because she was listening to ‘Funky Town.’” 

 

 

It’s Tuesday night. Or Wednesday morning. At SNL they’re mostly the same thing. 

Clarke shows up first, just after noon. She sits in her and Raven’s office, spins around in her chair, stares at the cursor on her screen. If she’s spent too much time there with no idea what she’s doing, she gets up and walks to the Update office where she starts reading the newspapers they get delivered and copies of the _The Wall Street Journal_ Bellamy has left. He marks them, haphazard X’s next to stories he thinks could have comedic value. 

That’s the weird thing about them, Clarke and Bellamy, they write jokes for Update. They’re more involved than most anchors. If you asked Clarke, she’d say it’s because she’s the one telling the jokes; they reflect back on her. Also, she likes the news. If you asked Bellamy, he’d say it’s because Clarke is a control freak and if he isn’t involved, she’ll make sure she gets all the good jokes. Also, maybe he’s a bit of a control freak, too. 

Clarke will hop back and forth between her office and the Update room until Wells and the other writers show up at three or four. Wells is always first. He and Clarke always share a bag of chips and talk about their lives before getting down to business. 

Everyone else scatters in between four and seven at night. 

Finn is always last. 

 

 

Octavia pitches a sketch she’s excited about: she is a damsel in distress, a prince tries saving her, he is terrible at it and she ends up rescuing them both. 

It isn’t particularly new or innovative. But she thinks it’s funny. She thinks she could make it even funnier. Something Octavia becomes known for during her tenure on Saturday Night Live: physical comedy. 

When Thelonious, Wells and the other writers and producers emerge from Thelonious’s office on Wednesday night, she bounces on her heels. Her sketch is on the list. They’re going to fix up the script, the host is going to play the villain, and even though Jasper desperately wants to be the prince – “Come _on_ , it was written for me.” “No, it wasn’t,” Octavia says. – they give the part to Finn. 

She enjoys the dumb pink dress she has to wear and gets to rip apart. She enjoys the way Bellamy’s mouth quirks up when he stands just off the stage watching the first rehearsals. She enjoys watching her vision come to life. It’s the best part of the job. 

It’s even worse when the sketch gets cut after dress because of time and because, suddenly, the host, Murphy, refuses to do it. 

“It’s okay, O. It was a great sketch,” Bellamy tells her, earnest and right in her face when she really just wants to take a two hour nap on the sofa in her office. “Everyone’s had a sketch cut after dress.”

“I know,” she says. “Leave me alone.”

“You don’t have time to sulk.”

She stares him down. 

“Fine, but I’m not taking care of you if you get sloppy at the after party tonight.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she says, pressing her toes against the arm of the sofa she’s lying on. 

Bellamy mumbles something under his breath and closes the door. 

 

 

“Why do they always give me the mom parts?” Clarke asks.

“Because I’m too hot to be a mom,” Raven responds.

“Because you’ve got a stick up your ass,” Bellamy says. 

“I do not!” Clarke crosses her arms over her chest. “And I’m hot.”

Raven smirks. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

Bellamy looks her up and down, nods like he agrees. 

Clarke feels a blush rising high on her cheeks. 

 

 

Finn and Raven start dating about three days after they get to SNL. Most people think they arrived already dating, but that’s not true. 

Finn and Raven start dating because Raven thinks he’s cute, because they’re both from the Groundlings, because he already walks around like he belongs – around SNL and the city, a false bravado that eventually wears thin – and hits the vending machine until it gives Raven a free Coke. 

Finn and Raven break up at the end of their first season because Finn keeps writing horrible pieces for himself and Clarke – none of them even make it past pitch – and because Raven gets used to the sounds and lights of the city and would rather not feel alone even when she has a boy in her bed. 

Jasper spreads the rumor that Raven and Finn break up because Finn fucked Clarke. That’s not true either. Raven doesn’t take the time to correct the first or last misconception about the relationship because, in the beginning, she liked that people thought she and Finn arrived as a unit, and later, because she does not give enough of a fuck. 

She had an entire summer to get over it, anyway. 

Never even ran into him once. She thinks that’s the beauty of New York City. 

 

 

“Good evening, I’m Clarke Griffin.”

“I’m Bellamy Blake, and here are tonight’s top stories.” He pivots to look at the correct camera. “Hemorrhagic fever has broken out in Maine. Officials say the cause is unknown, but the chances of contracting it are small. Also unknown: how the hell officials know the chances of contracting it if they don’t know how anyone contracts it.” A beat. “Also why anyone would freely choose to live in Maine.”

The camera cuts to Clarke. “The Grounders are holding a diplomat sent to help negotiate peace hostage, calling it a valid war tactic and saying we would have done the same if the situation were reversed. They followed it up with,” she makes her voice high and nasally: “Na-na na-na boo boo.” 

Bellamy smirks at her, bites at the inside of his cheek. “Mind doing that again?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Na-na na-na boo boo.” 

“That’s fantastic.” He shakes his head and squares his shoulders before reading off the next cue card. “The city is pushing a new initiative to reduce waste. Consequently, the mayor is stepping down.” 

“A woman in California is suing her tattoo artist, claiming he messed up the flaming dragon-dog hybrid standing on crushed roses she wanted on her back. The tattoo artist says it was a fair mistake: many people have asked for a dragon-dong hybrid. Bellamy can sympathize.”

“That’s why you look at the drawing first,” Bellamy says. “Now I just have a dick-shaped scar on my hip.” He shoots a look at Clarke. “Anyway, here to comment is Phil, a tattoo removal specialist.”

Monty rolls in on his chair so hard he bumps into Bellamy, who bumps into Clarke. 

The most important part: nobody breaks. 

 

 

“No,” Raven says flatly. She types something into her laptop. 

“Why not?” Jasper asks.

“Because your idea is gross.”

“Blowup dolls are funny,” he insists, punctuating his words by pointing obnoxiously at Raven.

“No, they’re not.” She hits the backspace button and Jasper leans closer, trying to see what she’s working on. Raven slams her laptop shut. “Besides, your idea is sexist and disgusting.”

“You’re just angry about that time they put my orgy sketch in the ten-to-one spot instead of your stupid pipeline piece.” 

Raven rolls her eyes. “Get out of my office, Jasper.”

“I’m sorry. Please, please, please help me.” He makes a praying gesture with his hands.

“Talk to me next week.”

He fistpumps the air. 

 

The next week Raven writes a melancholy black and white film that’s not quite funny but turns into a standout anyway. Jasper pitches his sketch despite Raven instructing him not to.

“I told you it wasn’t funny,” she tells him when it gets cut after the table read.

 

 

Octavia waits outside Thelonious’s office, tapping her foot against the floor. Everyone’s doing their own post-table read thing: Monty and Jasper are sleeping writing night off, Bellamy and Clarke are probably leaning into each other, looking at the same Update card and arguing about whether it’s funny or not, whether Bellamy could deliver it without laughing or not, whatever it is they do when they’re both tired and have locked themselves in there. Raven’s with props or set design, tinkering with something because she likes to use her hands while she waits for the show’s outline to be posted. 

Octavia likes to wait outside the office. 

She likes being the first castmember to see the list. She likes that she got to tell Bellamy his stupid Roman history sketch made the first half of the show, liked the grin that lit up his face and how he picked her up, spun her around as though she actually had anything to do with the decision-making process. 

She likes having a moment to revel in any joy or sadness she feels. But mostly, she just really likes being first. 

When the door opens this time and everyone files out: the host, producers, Wells, and Thelonious, there’s someone she doesn’t recognize. 

“Hello,” he says. He holds his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Lincoln. I’m going to be the network’s new consultant.”

Octavia blinks, wets her mouth, thinks about how hot he is, because _damn_. She’s only human. “Octavia. I play a lot of girls who fall down.”

He smiles at her, soft and warm. “I know. You’re very good at it.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I don’t know if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment.”

“The latter,” he assures her. 

“Then, thank you.” She grins. “So, does that mean you’re going to be hanging around a lot?”

“It does.” Lincoln nods, something about his body language coming across solid and approachable. 

“That’s a shame. I’m going to miss Tristan.”

“You’re face doesn’t say that,” he says. 

Octavia blushes, holds her hands up. “ You caught me.”

 

 

“What do you want,” Bellamy asks, scribbling something on a notecard before posting it on the corkboard with the other potential Update jokes for the week – Clarke has been here, has used the million different colored highlighters she has to mark them as good, mediocre, terrible, and mine.

“I wrote this for you.” Raven all but throws the pages onto the table, crosses her arms over her chest before leaning against the doorjamb. 

“How special,” Bellamy drawls. He looks down at the sketch. “A school janitor?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Ask Jasper. He looks dirty.”

“It’s a character piece.” Raven rolls her eyes. “It’s good.”

Bellamy already knows it’s good. Raven wrote it. “Will it make it to air?”

Raven shrugs. “I wrote it with Wells.”

It’s not a guarantee, but it’s about as close as they ever get to one. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“You’re welcome,” Raven says.

Bellamy looks at her. “Didn’t say thank you.”

“I know.” She smirks, leaves.

 

 

“They hate us,” Clarke says. She cocks her hip out and places her hands there, elbows out.

“No, they don’t. They just don’t know us yet,” Finn enthuses. He looks out at the audience, points up. “See, they brought a talking stick to encourage open communication.”

“That’s a spear,” Raven says. 

Finn sighs, long and dramatic and almost like a whine. “Your negative attitude will never get you anywhere.”

“Except for dead, apparently,” Miller mumbles. 

“Look! They brought cows. Probably a peace offering.” Finn flips his hair, grins. “Why else would they bring cows?”

Everyone else on stage frowns and looks back and forth at each other. They all shrug simultaneously. 

“This is definitely going to work.” Finn stands like a captain looking out to sea. 

“Maybe they’re going to give us mad cow disease,” Raven pipes up, sarcastic as anything. 

“Oh be—” Finn is cut off by an arrow hitting Raven in the chest. Fake blood spurts and then she collapses.

“We’re all gonna die!” Monty shrieks. 

“So the arrow signaling their arrival hit Miss Pissy Pants. Honest mistake,” Finn says. “We didn’t bring an arrival arrow!” He calls out before turning back to the group. “Arrival arrow, try saying that ten times fast.”

A cow drops from the ceiling, hitting Clarke and knocking her to the ground. 

“They’re throwing the cows!” Monty shouts.

The sketch ends like it always does, with everyone dead except for Finn, who stands there with his hand over his eyes like a visor, insisting that everything is going swimmingly. 

Lone white boy standing tall. 

 

 

Finn is at the bar flirting with a blonde intern, whispering in her ear and touching her wrist with his fingers, his thumb not quite wrapping around it. He laughs, moves his hand to the small of her back and buys her a shot. 

Raven’s sitting in a booth watching, glass of whiskey half-empty in front of her. The host has made the mistake of playing quarters with Clarke, whose hair is pulled back, one long piece hanging out of her bun like it was never in it in the first place. Octavia’s dancing, crowd around her, arms in the air. When Octavia laughs it’s loud. Raven can hear her over the music. Miller, Bellamy and Connor are in the corner talking.

Raven looks down at her glass, runs her finger over the rim and thinks about the small sound it could be making. When she looks up Finn is sliding into her booth, sitting across from her. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Raven replies. She rests her hands on the table, still.

“That piece you wrote for Bellamy tonight was great.”

“I know.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Thanks.”

“Is there any reason you didn’t give it me?” he asks.

Raven raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Maybe because the only female parts you ever write are for Clarke.”

He shakes his head, holds his hands up like he’s going to surrender something. “Don’t be petty, Raven.”

This is the night she will sleep with Bellamy for the first time.

She will down the rest of her whiskey, smoke a joint with Jasper and Monty, and take a cab to Bellamy’s apartment because she listened to him complain about Octavia flirting with the network liaison, talk about Roman history and recite Greek myths. If she’s going to do those things, she deserves to get laid. 

But right now she glares at Finn and says: “Honestly, you didn’t have the charisma to pull off the part.” A beat. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

The thing is, that’s probably not true. Finn is all charisma. He always has the most fans waiting outside 30 Rock for autographs after the show, hordes of young girls. Bellamy jokes that most of Finn’s fans fall asleep after Update, but by then the ratings are determined so it doesn’t matter. The word Raven is looking for is depth, depth of performance, ability to imbue an entire life into a character in just four minutes, maybe in spite of the jokes. 

The truth is that she says charisma because it’s the first word that comes to mind and because she wants it to hurt. 

 

 

Raven sneaks out of Bellamy’s apartment before he wakes up in the morning but not before the sun. They don’t even get back before the sun 

She doesn’t leave a note.

On Monday Bellamy doesn’t mention it, but he hands her an extra dry vanilla cappuccino, and when she asks, “What’s this for?” he shrugs. 

He says, “Don’t know.”

 

 

One reviewer writes: “This cast’s humor skews toward the violent and the grotesque. Many of the pieces following Update, if you reflect on them, are equal parts funny and depressing. This is not a bad thing.”

Another reviewer writes: “SNL is a mere shadow of what it used to be. I miss the days when Diana and the Counsel ran the show. Back then, it was actually funny.”

Take your pick. 

 

 

“So, Jenny,” Raven says, sitting on the small red loveseat. “What did you do Saturday?”

Clarke twirls a piece of hair, pops the piece of gum she’s chewing. “Well, my boyfriend played a bunch of violent video games and ordered pizza with all the meat toppings.”

“My boyfriend also orders pizza with all the meat toppings.”

“Oh my god!” Clarke and Raven high-five. “Then he touched my boob, smoked some mary-juana and fell asleep, drooling on my couch.” 

Raven sits up straighter, smiling smugly. “My boyfriend grows his own marijuana.”

“Mine too!” They high-five again. 

“On Sunday, he came over, forced me to watch old episodes of _Family Guy_ , and then showed off his muscles by lifting five pounds.” Raven reaches into her pocket, uncaps a glittery tube of chapstick and rubs it over her mouth.

“That’s so romantic,” Clarke says. 

Raven smacks her lips. “God, I know, right? He’s the best.”

The doorbell rings and they call, in unison, “Come in!”

Monty opens the door, fraying top hat on his head, baggy jeans, and a porno moustache pasted onto his face. “Hey baby,” he drawls.

“Hey.” Raven waves her fingers at him. 

“Who’s that?” Clarke asks, grasping Raven’s wrist.

“My boyfriend.” Raven rolls her eyes.

“That’s not my boyfriend,” Clarke says before worrying her lip between her teeth.

Jasper walks in then, fraying top hat on his head, baggy sweatpants, a porno moustache pasted onto his face. “Hey baby.”

“ _That’s_ my boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” Raven says. Both Raven and Clarke squint, tilting their heads at the same time to look at the boys standing in the living room. “I was sure we were dating the same guy.”

“So was I.” 

“This is disappointing.” Raven shrugs. “What do we do now?”

“Dump them and see if we eradicated the cancer cells?”

“Fine,” Raven whines. “Let’s go cure cancer.”

The girls get up, exist stage left. 

“I thought we were dating the same girl?” Monty says, confusion and disappointment in his voice while he rubs at his moustache. 

 

 

It’s five in the morning on a Wednesday. Clarke has a headache pounding in her temples and she hasn’t slept yet. She can see the sun rising outside the window of the office. Raven’s lying on the sofa, laptop on her stomach. 

“I’m not funny,” Clarke whispers. 

“What?” Raven looks at her.

“I’m not funny,” Clarke repeats, a little louder. This happens on the weeks when she doesn’t sleep until after the table read. She goes from exhausted, to so exhausted everything is side-splittingly hilarious, to so goddamn exhausted that nothing is funny and she’s sure she’ll never write another worthwhile joke again. 

Raven would roll her eyes if she had energy to spare. “Maybe not right now, but you’re funny.”

“What if I take a nap?”

“Floor is all yours.” Raven brushes the carpet with her fingers. 

Clarke frowns. “You’ve had the sofa for hours.”

“But I didn’t sleep.” Raven moves though, sits up, shuts her laptop and places it on the ground. 

Clarke takes the vacated spot, leans her head back against the sofa and closes her eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to anchor Update.”

“What?” Raven asks. 

“It was supposed to go to Wells. His tests were better. I saw the tapes.” Clarke presses her mouth together, folds her hand over her lap. Her eyes hurt even though they’re closed. “He was better. I only got the job because I asked him for it. He told his dad he changed his mind, that he didn’t want it.”

“Oh.”

“I know.”

Raven leans her head against Clarke’s shoulder, closes her eyes. “Maybe if we sleep for a few minutes we’ll be funny again.”

Clarke yawns. She likes how warm Raven’s body is pressed against her own. She likes the sharpness of Raven’s body, her elbow and her hip. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Just a few minutes.”

 

 

Monty takes a hit, holds the joint between his fingers. “Do you think this is irresponsible?”

“What?” Jasper blinks at him slowly, word drawn out. 

“Getting high when we’re supposed to be working.”

“Oh, that.” Jasper shrugs. Then he grins. “The original cast snorted cocaine while writing.”

Monty’s mouth feels like cotton. He reaches for the skittles Jasper spilled onto the table in their office, knocks a few onto the ground trying to get a red one. “Do you think cocaine makes you funnier than pot?”

“I don’t know. But pot’s probably a more responsible drug.”

“It is natural,” Monty says. He chews on his skittle and imagines that it’s chewing tobacco. “But so is cocaine.”

“Are you saying,” Jasper starts, mouth red and wet and always parted, “that we should try cocaine.”

“No.” Monty rolls his eyes. “We should do a skit though. About marijuana as a gateway drug.”

“A film,” Jasper says. “A short.”

“That looks like an acid trip,” Monty adds. He looks out the window. It’s open and the air blowing in is cold; the sounds of the city blowing in are muted. “Did we just write something?”

“Write it down so we can pitch it later,” Jasper says. He closes his eyes. “Pot definitely makes you funnier. Me though? I’m always hilarious.”

 

 

It happens at the season wrap party. 

Clarke has had a martini. She feels a little buzzed but not drunk. She has another martini in her hand. Raven pushes at Bellamy’s shoulder, smile tugging up around her mouth, traces of the green eyeshadow from the last skit remain smeared on Raven’s eyelids and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail; it swings when she pushes at Bellamy’s shoulder. 

Clarke licks at her mouth. 

“You could talk to her,” Wells says. It seems like he evaporates out of thin air even though Clarke knows that’s not possible. 

“I know.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I talk to her all the time.”

“You know what I mean.” Wells looks at her with that all-knowing face of his. 

Clarke frowns. “How did you…?”

“Because you’re my best friend. And because you’ve been staring at her all night.”

“Have you been staring at me all night?” Clarke asks, narrowing her eyes.

Wells smiles. “Look, Bellamy’s got to go incoherently rap the words to a song he doesn’t know with Miller. Now’s your chance.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Good show tonight.”

“Call me tomorrow.” He pushes her softly toward Raven. 

“Promise.” Clarke kisses his cheek, taps his wrist and turns, walks down the bar. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Raven leans against the counter. “Okay, be honest, that was a fuck up during the swingers sketch, right? Bellamy swears it wasn’t but I know he’s full of shit.”

Clarke grips her glass tighter, presses her mouth into a straight line. “I’ll never tell.”

“You’re both so full of shit.” The bartender slides Raven a glass of whiskey and she thanks him, takes a sip. “My goal tonight is to get completely hammered and then sleep for two days straight.”

“Responsible,” Clarke says.

When Raven laughs her eyes go watery and her mouth stretches into a grin. “Not everyone can get wasted, win $200 in quarters and not have a hangover the next day.”

Clarke nods. “It’s a gift.”

They talk about how Monty broke during update – Monty never breaks during Update – how they’re pretty sure Octavia’s moved in with Lincoln, and how Raven’s flying out to LA to do some shows at the Groundlings over the summer. They talk until their faces are mere inches from each other, until the song changes and suddenly everyone in the bar is screaming the lyrics. 

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Raven says. She’s looking out at the crowd but Clarke’s just looking at the line of her throat, at her jaw. 

“What?”

“I don’t know the words.”

When she turns her head she shrugs, looks at Clarke’s mouth. 

Clarke waits a beat before kissing her. 

 

 

Clarke finds Bellamy standing outside 30 Rock, hands shoved in his pockets, looking up at the building. “What are you doing?” she asks. 

He turns to look at her. “I missed it. What are you doing?”

She presses her mouth together. She’s spent her summer writing a script, sending pieces of it to Wells. She’s spent her summer going out to lunch with Raven at the Russian place that’s halfway between their apartments. She’s spent her summer walking around the city that’s always been her home but feels smaller now, like she’s conquered something. 

She says: “I missed it, too.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“No promises.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I was thinking about doing the tour.”

Clarke’s mouth quirks up. “The studio tour?”

“Not everyone grew up being best friends with the showrunner’s son,” he says, but it doesn’t sound defensive. 

“You realize you work here,” she responds. He almost glares at her, but it’s been a long time since his face has really been able to work up the frustration to actually do it – it used to be easy. Clarke shrugs, takes a step forward. “Well, let’s do it then. The real tourist experience.”

The tour is nice, and no one stares at them or anything – they’re really not that famous. One little girl asks for their autograph when it’s over, and there’s something about watching the softness of Bellamy’s face when he asks her if she stays up to watch the show and she says no, her mother records it and they watch it together in the morning – her mother assures Clarke she skips over the sketches that aren’t appropriate – that makes Clarke smile and really feel it. Bellamy ruffles the girl’s hair and gives her a high-five. She tells Clarke that she’s her favorite. 

Clarke doesn’t know what to say to that besides, “Thank you.” 

 

After, they sit in the Update office. 

They write jokes about the news even though by the time the show comes back at the end of September the jokes and the news they’re about will be irrelevant. 

Clarke thinks there’s something in that phrase: You can always come home. 

 

 

There’s alcohol, so Clarke is almost drunk. 

If it had been the Golden Globes, everyone would already be drunk. 

She runs her fingers over the golden statue. “When do you have to give it back?”

Raven scrunches her face up. “Why would I give it back?”

“I mean,” Clarke starts, blinks. “I mean so they can engrave it with your name.”

“Oh. Before I leave, I think? When they told me backstage, I had too much adrenaline to really process everything.”

“You made a joke about Bellamy’s dick in the press room,” Clarke says.

Raven laughs. “It was a good joke.”

“The first person to win an Emmy for the show in 52 years.” Clarke smiles at her before pressing her mouth against Raven’s. 

“Don’t do that,” Bellamy says. He sits next to Clarke, pulls Raven’s statue out of her hand. “She already thinks she’s hot shit.”

“That’s because I am,” Raven says. 

“Maybe this will bring in enough press that we can fire Finn,” Bellamy says.

Clarke watches Raven smirk at him, her eyes dark and dilated from champagne and winning. Clarke rests her hand high on Bellamy’s thigh. “Don’t be mean,” she tells them both. 

Raven rolls her eyes, leans over Clarke to say something to Bellamy, her entire body pressing hot against Clarke. She feels Bellamy place his hand on top of hers, curl his fingers under her palm. He does not move her hand off his thigh. 

 

Hollywood Reporter’s Emmy party recap reads:

10:03: Saturday Night Live winner Raven Reyes jokes with cast members Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake about firing Finn Collins – currently filming a movie by Nicholas Sparks’ successor Atom. 

10:34: Jasper Jordan, Monty Green and Octavia Blake lead a group through a self-sung rendition of “The Macarena,” counterintuitive to the music that is actually playing from the speakers. 

10: 55: Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake wait for a car. Blake gives Griffin his jacket when she shivers and comments on the cold. Griffin gives Reyes the jacket when she sneezes. The three leave together.

 

 

Things various people – a fan in a Youtube comment, a reviewer, an interviewer, a castmember, etc. – have noted as important:

The way, when Weekend Update ends, Clarke and Bellamy nod seriously at each other before Clarke reaches out and helps Bellamy loosen his tie.

Monty’s aptitude for Update characters that remain lively and distinct while not depending solely on throwing his voice or making exaggerated faces at the camera. 

Octavia’s hair getting into her mouth during a dance sketch where she thrashes her head around – it looks like she’s going to snap her neck in the process. 

Monty’s sketch about reality television juries asking questions about morals and being an inspiration. 

Raven refusing to scream, “Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!” Instead, each time she gets the intro, she stays in character. Except for her last show, where her face lights up and she ecstatically shouts.

Wells’s sitcom getting picked up for a full season order after the pilot is shot. 

How the entire cast fights tears when Bellamy leaves the show. The way the host lets him say the goodnights, his hand rubbing circles into Clarke’s back, his other arm swung over Raven’s shoulders. 

 

 

The SNL set is always ripe for gossip. It’s like one giant clique that will whisper anything and everything about each other, do anything to maximize their screentime, and still be exceedingly happy when one of them finds success – whether in a sketch or outside the show. 

Everyone is already whispering about Bellamy, Clarke and Raven, but there’s no doubt about it when Jasper overhears Bellamy and Octavia fighting. 

Octavia screams: “So what? You, Clarke and Raven are allowed to fuck in their office and I can’t move in with my boyfriend?”

Jasper doesn’t hear Bellamy’s response, but he thinks he can do a good imitation of what his face probably looked like. 

 

 

“Do you want the job?” Wells says, voice calm, smooth and a bit clipped in an exaggerated imitation of Thelonious. 

“Me?” Miller asks. “Do you want to read some of my stuff?” He pushes the chair back and the scratching sound meant to accompany it comes right on time. 

“Why? You’re my son.”

“Do you even know if I can write jokes?” Miller asks. 

Wells leans back in his chair, carefully and deliberately folds his hands over his desk. “Tell me a joke.”

“Now?” Miller stands up, laughs a little manically. “I didn’t prepare anything.”

“You’ve been writing for the Upright Citizens Brigade for years. You and Clarke started your own troupe.” Wells tilts his head. “Maybe I should hire Clarke. Do you think I should call her tomorrow and ask if she wants a job?”

Miller’s eyes go wide, face malleable. “Dad, you have to audition her.”

“Oh.” Wells narrows his eyes. “Right. I’ll call her tomorrow and ask her to tell me a joke. Now, son, tell me a joke.”

Miller sucks in air. “What’s the difference between a tree and a radiation soaked tree?”

“What?” Wells asks, nodding, eyes bright with something like pride.

“The radiation soaked tree waves at you even when there’s no wind.”

Wells lets his face sit blank for a minute before sitting up straighter. “Very funny, son. You’re hired.”

“But. You didn’t even laugh.”

“Ha ha,” Wells deadpans. 

“Are you hiring me because you think I’ll do a good job?” Miller asks, knitting his eyebrows together.

Wells slowly waves his hand before setting it back on the table. He shrugs. “Sure?”

Miller hesitates before holding his hand out. “I’ll take it.” They shake on it and then Miller sits down. “Will I ever get to say it?”

“Of course.” Wells holds his hand out toward the camera.

Miller’s grins. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” He waits a beat, eyes dancing, any sense of sketch and character removed. “Live from New York, it’s Saturday night!”


End file.
